The Stoli Scandal
by TheYummyPencil
Summary: Mark discovers a fiercely inebriated Mimi and, obviously, hidden emotions come to light. For R.I.P Casey Calvert, who requested more fluff...


**Author's Note: Okay. I had to write this. I'm in RENT mode. Majorly. 'The Stoli Scandal' is a really weird title! I'm not so good with titles. But hopefully the story will make up for it.**

So R.I.P Casey Calvert suggested I do more fluffy Mark/Mimi fics in future. And I says to myself, why the hell not? You want more fluff, you got it, baby!

**It's from Mark's POV again because it's easy to write as him. We're all Mark Cohen in one way or another, aren't we?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rent. I'm just…_renting_ the characters (_buda bum chi_)! Okay. That was weak. But seriously. Thank you, Jonathan Larson!**

**The Stoli Scandal **

He isn't here. For what has be the hundredth time he isn't here for her. In a way I'm thrilled. It means she needs me. But no matter how many times she calls me for help, it'll be Roger in the end. Handsome, brooding, _wavy-haired_ Roger. My best friend. My inadvertent nemesis.

He isn't here. So I have to take care of her.

She sounded weird when she phoned and asked me to pick her up. So I get all anxious and pedal my bike to the Catscratch club at the speed of light.

Half-naked girls flit out of the dressing room like moths the minute I open the door. One of them, a lithe blonde with green eye-shadow, stops and looks at me.

"Uh…is Mimi Marquez here?"

She snorts. "_Barely_."

I frown in confusion, but see what she means the minute I walk in. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a pink feather boa around her neck and so much red lipstick on she looks like a clown. She's peering down into a half-empty bottle of Stoli Blueberry and whispering something.

I knock hard on the door. She looks up and smiles her gorgeous toothy smile.

"Oh Mark!" she cries, like I just proposed to her. "_You came_. I _knew_ you would."

I blink slowly. "You okay, Meems?" I've never seen her this out of it. And that is saying something.

She nods. "I am fan-freakin-tastic! Just drowning my sorrows in _Stoli_."

I smile uncertainly and walk over to her. "That's okay. But we should go home now." I hold out my hands and she takes them, her eyes wide and glistening as she looks up at me.

"Before we do, though," I reach over to the dressing table and grab some tissues, still holding her one hand because I like the feeling of it. "Let's get this war-paint off."

She slaps my arm away petulantly. It hurts pretty bad but I don't want to be weak about it so I try for the stern face.

"Do you _want_ to go out looking like Ronald McDonald?"

"That a trick question, Mark?" But she relents and lets me wipe the stuff off her mouth. It's painful to be touching her lips in an entirely different way from what I want.

After she's sufficiently cleaned up I help her put on her shoes and coat, and half-carry her out of the club. It's freezing outside, but my beloved scarf helps. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes so hard I can't breathe, but I'm not really bothered about the oxygen. This kind of contact only comes around once in a Blueberry Stoli.

I get on the bike, she hops onto the make-shift seat on the back and puts her arms around me again. But before I know what's going on her hands have worked under three shirts and are going over my chest, as if looking for something. I flinch at the coldness of them, but I can't stop her.

When I finally get the words out they sound weak and hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Getting warm," she mumbles into my back. "I didn't bring any gloves. _You're warm_."

"Certainly warmer than I was before," I mutter and shake my head. This is not good. It's not bad. But it's definitely _not_ good.

We glide down the streets in silence for a while. All I can think about is what a horrible friend I'm being. It's okay that she's got her hands up my shirt because she's cold. It's okay that I touched her lips because they were smothered in red paint. What's _not_ okay is that I like her hands up my shirt, and that I wanted to kiss her when taking that make-up off. In addition, she's staggering drunk. So I am taking advantage.

I justify myself by thinking of how Roger and Mimi's relationship has fizzled out somewhat. Their grand passion has turned into more of a grand friendship with benefits. The touring isn't helping any. And I observe this as a _completely_ objective third party.

Mimi mercifully interrupts my chain of thought.

"You know…I am _not_ normally a happy person, Mark."

"You're not?"

I feel her shake her head. "I am _not_. I mean, look at me. _Look_ at what I do. Do you think I'm _happy_ rolling around naked on a stage in front of men I don't know? Do you think I'm happy staying here while my boyfriend's touring the country like freaking Bon Jovi?"

"You know, you can change all that if you want to, Meems." I hesitate. "Even the Roger part."

"Yeah," she says in a strained voice. "But you see, Mark…_I can't._"She laughs weakly. "I need the money. And I need Roger. I need Roger like-like…_air_. You know what I mean?

Yeah. I guess.

"Aw, don't get all gloomy, Mark!" How she deduced my mood so easily, I cannot know. Maybe the alcohol enhanced her powers of perception. "I need you, too."

"Only when Roger isn't around."

"Nope. You are _wrong_, baby. I need you even when he is here. Like when we have a fight, you're always there to hug me and tells me it's okay and I'm _beautiful_. And when I haven't eaten for two days, who's the one who goes out and finds me those rice cakes I like? Who, Mark? Who?" She pokes my shoulder insistently.

I sigh. "_Me_."

"Yes, you! I'm shit without you, Mark. And you know it."

Actually, I _don't_ know it. I don't know if she really means this or not. And musing over it is too depressing. Nothing ever happens.

"Get ready, we're crossing the street."

"Oooh, crossing the street!" she exclaims. "Better watch where you're going."

And then the nightmare begins. With alarming swiftness, her hands disappear from under my shirt and fly to my eyes.

"MIMI!"

I hear her giggling feverishly. "Use your _instincts_, grasshopper!"

For five seconds that feel a lot longer, all I can hear is the hooting of cars and screeching of tires as I swerve blindly.

Finally I get the sense to put on the brakes and we nearly tumble off. Another car screeches to a halt, and my senses tell me it's right in front of us.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" The guy sounds big and angry. "You tryin' to get killed!"

I hear Mimi whisper gleefully in my ear, "Mark! Check it out!" She removes her hands only for me to be blinded further by two headlights. My eyes adjust. The guy is big, and he is angry. In addition, he is a police officer.

"Hey, Officer! How much do I have to pay you to strip for my friend here?"

"_Shut up_, Mimi," I whisper shakily.

"_What_ is your problem?" the man in blue continues, coming towards us.

"I am _so_ sorry, sir. My friend here, she's a little out of it…"

"A little _drunk_, you mean. I'm gonna have to take your lady friend in."

Her arms tighten around my waist again. "What?" she squeals. I put a hand over hers. "No! You can't take me to _jail_. Come on, Mark, let's go! Use your powers. You can fly, I know you can!"

_No_, Mimi. I cannot fly. And even if I could, I wouldn't. I don't want to go down for evading arrest as well as reckless riding.

"Officer, there must be some way we can work this ou-"

"The only way to work this out is to put _her_ away. I'm doing you a favor, buddy. There're plenty more hookers in the street. You can do better than this loon."

I feel my cheeks go red. This is it. I am about to do something incredibly valiant and stupid.

"She's _not_ a hooker!" I spit. "Have some respect for Christ's sake."

"Respect for this trash?"

"_You're_ the only trash I see around here, you…fat ass NYPD lackey!"

As is to be expected, the cuffs come out, and we're thrown in the back seat of a squad car that smells of things I cannot identify, nor do I want to. Mimi is shaking her head at me, telling me I'm a crazy little Jewish boy and she loves me for what I did. Her eyes aren't so glazed over anymore, but I won't let myself hope she knows what she's saying…

So I almost died, my bike's been confiscated and now I'm lying in a jail cell.

But then, in the end, Mimi Marquez is lying next to me, her leg draped over mine and her hand on my chest.

I haven't had any Stoli, so I know it can only be pure insanity that makes me smile.

**A/N: I thought it would be cute to have Mark get himself in jail for Mimi's sake. But they STILL haven't hooked up. I don't know. I always start out thinking there'll be some grand, passionate kiss and then a declaration of love in the end, but something else always comes out. Please review nonetheless! If you don't it's okay. I gain joy simply from writing Mark/Mimi! **

**Peace and GBU **


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